


Of Inconsequential Titles (And Broken Commanders)

by Of the League (Serpyre)



Series: Rise [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Disability, Episode Fix-It: s03e07 Thirteen, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa Lives, Lexa-centric, Major Character Injury, Permanent Injury, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpyre/pseuds/Of%20the%20League
Summary: I was once the Commander. I was once Heda. The Commander of the Twelve Clans. Their Savior; their leader; their Heda.But all that ended when Titus' bullet shattered my spine.Or, Lexa survives the bullet, but not the damage that's done along with it.





	1. Revival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's shot by Titus, and deals with the aftermath.

_**Of Inconsequential Titles (And Broken Commanders)** _ _**\- AU where Lexa Lives.** _

_**Alternate Titles Include: Bullets and Bones, Two Names (Two Lives)** _

_"A fall from power and regaining it." Alycia Debnam-Carey on what she would have liked to happen with Lexa._

* * *

_I was once the Commander._

_I was once Heda. The Commander of the Twelve Clans. The One that United Them All. Their Savior; their leader; their_   _ **Heda**_ _._

 _But now my tales will only be told in legends and stories. None more will exist. None_ _**new** _ _will be weaved. All of I that is left is in their memory._

_Disgraced. They never verbalize it; at least, Anya nor Indra nor Titus never do. But I see it in their eyes._

_All of it spiralled from control once the bullet lodged itself in my stomach. Clarke managed to perform surgery; and no thanks to the lessons she learned whilst with her Mother, saved my life. But she couldn't pick up all the pieces._

_Scars were left. When I had woken up, I found I could not move my legs. Clarke, exhausted of her tears and wretchedness etched on her face, had explained it with tiredness: the bullet had damaged the nerves surrounding my spine. It had shattered my spinal cord._

_I could not walk._

_I had screamed Clarke out, then. Told her to shut the tent's doors; to inform my guards to let no one in. Left myself to the peace of quiet; without the war raging outside, to think and contemplate and to force feeling in my unresponding legs._

_I could not walk; I could not fight; I could not do anything but wait my days out on a bed._

_I was unfit to command._

_I was no longer Heda. I was only Lexa. Broken, crippled, depressed._

_And the Coalition didn't need Lexa. They needed their Heda. Their steadfast; strong-willed; undefeated Commander. Not some tired echo of what she used to be._

_There was nothing I could give them, then._

…

_They are hosting another Conclave._

_By all means, I should have known. There was no way they'd put me on the throne in my current condition—what use is of a Commander who cannot fight? But the news still surprises me; I had never worried to see my Natblida fight in the Conclave, for by then I'd be dead._

_Perhaps I should've thought about the unforeseen circumstances, then._

_The rumours and news travel fast; quicker than I'd expected. From what Anya had told me; the people worry for my survival, and what the future holds for them. Some believe I'm dead; others believe I'd return; and some still hoped there would be no need for a Conclave, for I were still alive. They uttered prayers; wished me well, gave their thoughts and future harvests in my name._

_They wish for me to lead._

_How could I, like_   _ **this**_ _?_

_I am paralysed. I could not walk; I could not fight; I could not do anything but wait my days out on a bed._

_Breathe, Lexa. Just breathe._

_Perhaps Commanders should not hold favouritism for their Natblida; but I hope Aden wins. Clarke does too, for she entered my tent with no short of nervousness, and casually asked of Aden's odds in the Conclave._

_She protects her people._

_Shy of a laugh, relieved for a distraction, I told her that all my Natblida promised to take care of the Skaikru as the 13th Clan._

_Despite starting off the wrong foot, Skaikru is my people. Though they killed so many of mine; under the Coalition's rules, we shall treat them all as our own, and I would ask no less, no more._

_Clarke is my people, and thus, her people are mine to protect as well. My people see it as weakness; as a sign that I should command no more. For if I, their Heda, their ruler, their Commander, am protecting_ _ **their**_   _enemy, then what does that make of them?_

_Their wish is granted. And I can only hope they are right; that I was wrong; that Skaikru does not deserve saving and that it was love that blinded me all along._

_(For if not, I fear for my people; and their brewing war.)_

…

_I have no wish to watch the Conclave._

_I cannot present myself as Heda in my current state. Aside from the abject humiliation of being there, as the former Commander, watching the Conclave that successes her; disgraced and dethroned, dying but not dead; there was my people to consider as well, or at least, the impact my situation would have on them._

_Anya and Indra agree with my decision; with ever so much reluctance; reluctance that show it was what they wanted all along. Clarke does not want me to stay in my tent; she wants me to face my people, dispel the rumours that I am dead, and save the Coalition with my command._

_It's funny. When will Clarke realise I am no longer Commander?_

_I was still, in name. But I no longer will be, once I show myself; the image of their godlike Heda that joined the twelve Clans together will be wiped away; replaced with this echo of what I used to be—no longer the hero of their tales, broken, crippled, better off dead._

_My people need their Heda; they need their holy Commander, the figure of authority, the one to silence the chaos ravaging through their conflicted hearts; the one to bring peace and worshippers with her reign. They do not need Lexa. They do not need to see a broken, disgraced Commander, to further shatter their desperate hopes and fragile morales still. Anya and Indra understand that; and I do not hold it against them either, despite my heart telling otherwise._

_The Conclave is an opportunity; one for them to see a new, worthy Heda rise, without tarnishing the reputation I had maintained before. They will remember me as the Heda who united the 12 Clans; that had died in a fateful accident; that willingly passed her rule to the next._

_But is that what I truly want?_

_(Is that truly what my people need?)_

_If it were, then I'd gladly shrivel and die—if it brings a better Commander, one's rule which succeeds mine far beyond imagination._

…

_Ontari, what are you doing here?_

…

_Anya tells me Ontari plans to kill my Natblida at night._

_Ontari wants to murder them, while they are immersed in their dreams in bed. Ontari, the despicable Natblida from Azgeda, wants to kill them all a night before the Conclave, so she'd win automatically by rule._

_I have to do something._

_Anya tells me no; that warning them any sort would break the rules of the Conclave; that it'd out their spy in Azgeda and their mission still wasn't done._

_I need to do something._

_Roan can help me. He owes me his life; and Ontari was under his command. Even Azgeda have a sense of shame; and Ontari's dishonourable murder of twelve children before the Conclave would surely pipe his interest._

_I have to warn them._

…

_How?_

_I cannot move. I cannot find him. I cannot stop her._

_Clarke. I need Clarke's help. She would do anything for her people; and outing Ontari's plan to the public would surely increase the Skaikru's odds of survival, and disqualify Ontari's rightful spot in the Conclave. Doing so would ensure the survival of at least one of my Natblidas; and my Natblida would do anything to protect Skaikru, at all costs._

_But she's not here. Clarke is not here. She cannot help me; no more than I can help myself. Anya will not help me. Indra does not believe in me; she wonders why I haven't commenced my suicide rituals to die in honour yet. Titus will want me to stay—to heal, to recover— anywhere far away from the chaos in Polis._

_I have never felt so useless. Unable. Broken._

_I am nothing but a crippled Commander in bed._

…

_She killed my Natblidas._

_Ontari killed my Natblidas._

_Clarke holds me, while I sob over their deaths._

_I should not do this. I am Heda. I am the Commander. And love is rightfully weakness; and it was weakness I was displaying now._

_But I am not the Commander anymore. I'm not Heda. I am Lexa._

_And so, I cry, freely, mourning each and every one of their names, reciting and remembering and chanting their prayers under my breath; and I wonder when it'll ever end._

…

_The Skaikru dies tonight._

_I should not care for the Skaikru. They burned 300 of my warriors alive; slaughtered another 300; and had weapons that made even the best fighter wary. But they were part of my Coalition; and in the Coalition, we are Wonkru. Stronger together. We cannot fight each other; but we work together to win_ _ **our**_   _fights, win_ _ **our**_ _wars. And furthermore, despite their crimes, they are Clarke's people. And I have no wish for her people to suffer; for Clarke to die._

_Ontari wants to kill them all. Starting with Clarke. Then, to anyone who threatens her command. Anyone who disobeys. Till all that is left is no-one but her._

_They've warned of Commanders like her in stories before. Megalomaniac, power-hungry rulers. Tyrants that were corrupt to the core; desired not money nor fame but the everlasting thirst for more rule; more command; more power._

_I had never imagined I would see a day, where our would-be ruler was entranced by the hunger for megalomania._

_The Conclave were supposed to root them out; kill those too corrupt or power-hungry or maniacal. Shame that Ontari ignored its rules and murdered my proteges and basked in her dishonour and glory._

_She would never do that; no one would, if they thought I was alive. But I am not dead; I am burning alive, screaming as the flames lick and consume me, paralysed and confined in the pyre because my advisor thought he was doing what he must for our people; and as my own people try to douse the flames, pandemonium reigns on._

_The chaos my ''death'' upset. My people, chaotic, bloodthirsty, confused, wanting a war for it was the only way they knew. My people dying in the war Ontari ignited once she murdered my proteges; once she takes my title; once she kills Clarke—and declaring war to Skaikru along with it._

_Ontari can do anything she wants with me. She can kill me; strip me of my titles, and proclaim herself the slayer of Lexa kom Triku, former Commander of the 12 Clans. She can humiliate, torture, or vivisect me for all she wants. But not my people. I will not let her kill my people._

_She can kill me for all she wants, but I will never let her commit self-serving genocide to my people._ _**Our** _ _people. I cannot let her trap ourselves in a bitter war; cannot let her send my people to their deaths left and right. She can try to take my title—but she will never take my name, never take my people with her. I don't care less for what they remember me as—they need a Commander. Someone to row them out of the chaos. I can't care less if they see me as broken, crippled, or better off dead. They need a Heda. Perhaps I am not what they want, but I am what they need._

_I am Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of the 12 Clans. And I will not let Ontari of Azgeda inspire a war._

…

_They need my Flame._

_They want the Commander's Spirits, passed into Ontari. They want_ _ **my**_   _knowledge;_ _ **my**_   _tactics;_ _ **my**_   _skills; all put into a megalomaniac that knows only of power, and desires none more._

 _They want to cut me open. Titus is already on his way to retrieve me; a wheelchair in one hand and a knife in another, ready to take my Flame and to thrust it into the new_ _ **Heda's**_   _skin._

_Like hell I'd let them._

…

_I made a plan._

_Perhaps I could not walk; I could not move; I could not do anything but wait my days out on a bed._

_But I can fight. It wouldn't be as simple as glaring my Ambassadors into silence; or easily taking the lives of those whom actively disrespected and opposed my rule; for now in my current state I am no longer Heda but in name. It will be no easier than battling the vote of No-Confidence to a standstill; it will be painstakingly harder than fighting for my title by force, like when I was challenged to a fight; as Roan and Nia were; but I can fight. I need to fight. I have to._

_I will fight._

_I will do this for the good of our people. I will do this for my Natblida. For the 12 Clans; For the Skaikru, and my people alike. For Clarke._

_For the quelling of a war._

_For our lives, I will fight._

…

_I hold my Flame ransom. Sat myself on the throne; resumed my Commander's attire; and delighted in seeing the lividity in Ontari's face, with an ounce too much pleasure._

_I told her the only way she was taking my Flame was in direct combat with me. I issued a challenge—to fight at the brink of dusk, a final Conclave to end it all. For the Natblidas she slaughtered, I said. For the good of our people._

_They looked at me as if I were insane. Skaikru, Trikru—Anya and Indra and Titus all alike, save for Clarke, who stared at me with an emotion I couldn't decipher._

_(Perhaps we both understood the magnitude of which we would go for our people.)_

_Ontari accepted. I could see it on her face; an easy challenge, too easy for the likes of her. She didn't try to question her luck; just accepted it, as she went with the flow. Didn't ask whether if I wanted to choose someone to fight for me — even though we both knew neither of us would've trusted anyone but ourselves._

_I nod along, even as Titus stares at me in horror and Anya's eyes fear for me and Clarke looks the slightest on edge, for a smirk would give it away far too soon._

…

_The Commander is dead._

_I killed her._

_Wheeled myself into her chambers. Brandished the bloody knife which she paraded round like a trophy, when she won the Conclave. Slit her throat in her night's sleep, like she'd done to my proteges, one too many nights ago._

_Clarke's stunned. Indra's stunned. Anya's mouth is contorted into a scowl; but a ghost of a smile graces her eyes. Titus didn't respond to my gaze; but I know he wouldn't've let me into Ontari's chambers if he didn't approve._

_And I laugh._

_I am the last Natblida._

_Chaos will erupt, once the Coalition realises it too._

_I am the last Natblida._

_They are stunned; awed; angry. My eyes scan past the scowling Ambassadors; through the pride from Clarke, Anya, Indra and Titus; to the crowd beneath the tower, a disorderly mess, confusion written in their faces, as they scramble to find what had transpired within the corroded gates._

_The people will finally receive their Heda._

_I smile, even as they drag me and my unfeeling legs into the very cell I've acted in so many times before. I laugh, even as they thrust me into the hay and slam the metal doors. Their masks are stoic; but I've seen those faces too many times before, when we put on a play for our prisoners. The roughness was a facade; the crest on their chests hid their true loyalties; their scowls are smiles._

_I am their last Natblida._

_The people know._ _ **My**_   _people know. I am the one true Commander._

_(And that there will be none of Ontari's vengeful war, not if I can help it.)_

_I am Lexa kom Trikru. Commander of the 13 Clans. Wanheda bows to me; and I am your Heda._

_They can say I'm broken, crippled, and better off dead. They can say whatever they want about me; but none shall be enough to question my rule. None will stop me from doing what is the best for my people. They can cast a vote of No-Confidence, they can try to kill me in my sleep, they can disgrace me for all I care. I have fallen once, and I can fall again, but you will never stop me from returning to power._

_I am Lexa kom Trikru. You may strip my titles and honour; call me the improper Heda or the false Commander; say the Commander's titles do not deserve to be bound to a paraplegic; but you will never rid her name._

_I am Lexa kom Trikru. And I will stop this brewing war. I have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I really needed a fix-it after watching that episode.
> 
> Inspired by thesmolestnerd's fic [Numb and Broken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908224/chapters/26906010), go check it out! 
> 
> Let me know if you'd like to see more! First person isn't my forte (I've barely written in FPF, but I think this form would express Lexa's emotions and thoughts the best), but hopefully it turned out okay. Let me know what you think :D


	2. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa deals with the war she'd sworn to stop—and the repercussions alongside it.

_I am the Commander._  

_I am the last Natblida. I am Heda, whether if the Coalition or my people accepts it or not. That fact remains true—and until they remove my flame from my neck and place it in another Commander when I am dead, I am their Heda._

_I am the Commander, whether if my people want it to be or not. Chaos reigns outside while I am in my cell; the people, confused and fearful of what is to come. The Ambassadors, each seeking their own Natblidas, desperately trying to find alternatives for the benefit of their people. Myself, wondering if I should’ve stayed fallen, if my choice to escalate things further worsened them still, asking myself if it were the right decision at all._

_But there is no time for regrets now. I made a promise; to fight for my people, and fight I shall. For there is no turning back from this mess._

  _…_

_They want to find Luna._

_Luna, the one that escaped the Conclave, to forcibly put my flame into. Luna, a Natblida gone so far away they couldn’t possibly find; and even so no one would tell._

_I wonder what the Coalition thought. What a choice it would’ve been, between a coward and a paraplegic?_  

_…_

_They cast a vote of No-Confidence, after they take me out of my cell and don me in my Commander’s attire and place my people’s medallion on my head._

_6-7. Skaikru. Trikru. Yujleda. Delfikru. Ouskejon Kru. Sankru. They all vouch for me—believe in me still, despite the war that I’d started once I decided to initiate Skaikru into the Coalition._

_Or perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps they didn’t believe in me, but believed I was best for their people—if the vote was successful, and I am dethroned, they will have no Natblida left. Perhaps a search party could be called, a search for Natblidas—but that itself could only be futile and buy us a moment in peace, before the growing tensions snap and all hell breaks loose._

_13 wars between 13 Clans. A war no-one and nothing can stop. A war that stretches far and wide; a war within wars itself; a war with no end in sight. All for a thirst for power—the power a Commander has—a power a person has which_ **_is_ ** _the only thing stopping a war._

_It was why I formed a Coalition. When the only thing that maintains peace within your people is the presence of a Commander, what will be of them when the Commander is dead, and they decide that the Spirit of the Commander is a lie; that Natblidas should be no more?_

_Roan vouches for me._

_Azgeda, the Ice Nation, the Nation that killed my beloved once and nearly twice again, vouches for my survival._

_I meet with him, in my chambers, after the vote._

_Peace is momentary, he tells me, once the doors shut and there is no one but me and him in my chamber. I can be a peacekipa; my presence can maintain basic peace between my people, but it does nothing to deter the tension or the unvoiced questions of my people. Of how worthy I am of the Heda’s power. Of how I cannot fight—and how that reflects the stature of all the Clans, as a whole—paralysed, unable to defend themselves against the brewing war, discourse running within themselves. Of how anyone can challenge me, knowing that no-one fights for me— the only thing keeping them back my power, and the impressive echo that was once my reign, before the bullet hit my spine._

_All this Roan tells me, and all this I know. He says I need to prove myself worthy—even if the only difference between my past and current rule was a bullet to the spine and none more, my people do not see it so. For if I am dead, or dethroned yet again, then chaos will reign between the 13 Clans, each in a war with each other in a tryst for desperate power._

_And then he put a knife to my neck; and asked whether if I am their Commander. In response, I nodded towards his wrist, where my blade was stationed just under his nerve; where a even a nick would cause irreversible damage._

_He sheathed his blade; but his point was proven. I can barely fight; his blade would’ve slit my neck long before the nerve damage would’ve set in. I am weak, and vulnerable to attacks, and that should not be the case for a Heda._

_I have to learn to fight again._

_…_

_Not all of them believe me a Commander. Some think I should’ve disappeared after my paralysis, and let Ontari command next. Some do not think I deserve to fall, and have a new Commander rise, and kill that new Commander again and thrust that power back to myself—some even call me a megalomaniac._

_(And if I were to reignite my people’s belief in me, what better than to stop a war?)_

_But I am here to do what has to be done—to clean up the mess that’s been made by Ontari and Pike alike—to end a war that should have never started. Not for a thirst for power, nor it is for a desire to rule. It is to finish my mission—to unite the 13 Clans, a mission I promised Clarke once I initiated her clan into the Coalition._

_And after that, they can thrust my flame into Luna or into Ontari’s corpse or to some other Natblida for all I care—I am here to finish a war, not to create one between my people._

_…_

_I call for a surrender. I send my messengers out; the past ones’ deaths not forgotten on me, for_ **_these_ ** _ones were clad with bulletproof armour, and were commanded not to approach the Skaikru until their guns were down and a weaponless negotiator was sent out to talk with them._  

 _We will tighten the barricade one mile per day. No supplies were to be sent in or out—and if Skaikru has not surrendered Pike by the fifth day, we will charge and massacre all that is in there, to wipe out Skaikru once and for all._  

 _Clarke tells me not to. It is her people, after all, that is being starved and forced to surrender. Neither do I want to kill the Skaikru; not just because of the resentment she would hold against me if I do, but because of the unnecessary deaths that will become of this needless war._  

_It is a test of wills. Mine against Pike’s. I could only hope he couldn’t tell I was bluffing._

_…_  

_He wants to kill his prisoners._

_My people, my messengers say. If I do not call off the barricade and the impending war, then he will slaughter my people. One by one, a ritual execution, in front of my eyes._

_Does he not know that this threat was a call for war in itself?_

_If I called off the barricade, he would have the land forever. He would trust in the fact that the Commander of the 13 Clans_ **_fears_ ** _him, for he has her prisoners in stead, and with that fact he would continue to capture, to wage war, to kill—all without us stopping him, for fear he would kill those he captured, and would capture in the lands he took—_ **_if_ ** _I didn’t stop him._

_My knuckles whiten at the thought. My hands shake as I grasp at my chair’s armrests, trying to make sense of his threat. I have never been angrier in my life, not even when I learned 300 of my warriors were dead, not even when Titus defiled Costia’s memory, not even when I found out I couldn’t walk._

_He would kill my people that only wanted to learn the ways of his, in a desperate attempt to continue his survival, in an attempt to wage futile war, all for the sake of spiting me._

_Clarke tells me no. Tells me to call of the barricade in an attempt to save eighteen lives. Tells me she’ll infiltrate and work with the spies she had on the inside to free those trapped. But I know that is impossible—the imprisoned was Pike’s prize. His desperate last hope. There was no way we could even try to break into the holding cell, let alone have near a chance at freeing them._

_I know it is impossible, but I let Clarke try, anyway._

_Pike would never release the prisoners. They were as good as dead, once they were used as a hostage in Pike’s plans. If I surrender, they would survive… but just surviving is not living in itself. And judging by the type of person Pike is, I don’t doubt that death would be a mercy, from what my messengers tell me of the conditions they are in._

_But by calling a war, I am deliberately killing my own; and it is not just them, but countless lives of my warriors and the innocent as well. I do not want a war; I long for an era of jus no drein jus daun, where blood must not have blood, where peace can reign for a better world. But we are far from it, and now I must decide._

_Pike knows his odds to live through this war are next to impossible. He is desperate, and is willing to do what he must to live. Even through the calling of a war. Even through the needless slaughter of his prisoners that wanted nothing but a better life they thought they could find in the Skaikru._

_I know some of them myself. Acher. Denae. Lincoln._

_They had all wanted to live, and yet now they are only pawns in a plan they did not stand for. I hate it. I hate Pike with the flames of unabridged rage I once reserved for only the Ice Queen, and none more. He_ **_knows_ ** _he cannot win, he_ **_knows_ ** _I will not back away from the barricade for the sake of 18 lives, and he_ **_knows_ ** _he has to die, and yet he tries this anyway. He kills 18 innocent lives just to spite me for the sake of his already-damned life._

_Victory stands on the back of sacrifice._

_Pike’s desperate war will not stand._

_I will remember their names, as heroes who had sacrificed themselves in a damned war. Lincoln. Denae. Charis. Rivo. Taruk. Cos… You will be remembered. All of you._

_So I call off my messengers, and sound the war horn._

_…_

_I meet with Pike, after he executes the eighteen in front of my eyes._

_It was murder. Needless, desperate slaughter, all for the chance for his own life. And when Clarke comes back, after the execution’s been done, I don’t need to ask to know she’d witnessed it all as well— her eyes, too tired and weary for a day that was far too long._

_We enter the Camp—me, Roan, Titus and Clarke, uninterrupted. A group of Skaikru form, murmurs of discontent within them, staring at my chair and my Commander’s attire—and when I catch their gaze, quickly flittering to the whole of us. We are told to place our weapons outside, and I put my two twin blades on the rack, though a small knife, hidden from view, is stored in a compartment under the armrests of my wheelchair._

_He greets Roan as the Commander, even though he flanks my side. And once he points at me, gestures that I am the real Commander, his eyes flitter from my chair to myself, and his jaw works, as if unsure whether or not to laugh._  

_His jaw stops once I nod at him, and closes once I move towards the table, and Roan pushes aside the chair that’s been offered. My back aches, for the longevity I’ve been in my wheelchair hurts my spine— and I long for even simple exercise, a change in seats to place my mind aside from the nagging pain, but I don’t tell him._

_Disbelief. Surprise. Awe, perhaps. All evident on Pike’s features, until I clear my throat and remind him why we were here._

_‘’We are here to negotiate a surrender.’’ I did not mention the war in the background that was brewing, if ends could not meet in our negotiation._

_Pike laughs; hard, loud, sarcastically. Humour his defence mechanism; for if you imagined everything were a joke, why not laugh at it?_

_He does not want to die. That much is obvious. But if he were the leader of these people, then he should know of his sacrifice for his people once he was elected Chancellor and put on a medallion to prove it._

_‘’Surrender yourself now, and we will_ **_ignore_ ** _the eighteen you murdered, and reaccept Skaikru into the Coalition. Our rules and protection will apply to them like any other Clan. However, if you choose to resist, then we will raze your people to the ground. There will be no survivors. No Skaikru. Do you understand?’’_

 _He does not want to die. That much is obvious. And I tell him I will ignore the massacre he’d performed at two—but how could I ignore lives, human lives, my_ **_people’s_ ** _lives that were killed in a negotiation, all for the sought-after peace that was but a dream from War?_

 _His jaw readies for a laugh again, but something I cannot decipher,_ **_something_ ** _—understanding? Fear? Realisation—and horror? Acceptance?—_ **_something_ ** _passes his eyes. And my eyes meet his, and I realise—he, like Clarke, was doing what he thought was best for his people—from the murder of 300 to the slaughter of 18 and capture of our camps alike. Not for war. Not for the sake of spite. And especially not for his survival; but for his people’s lives._

 _Even if it is done in disastrous manners, manners that ensure war, all he does is—_ **_what he thinks_ ** _— is for the good of his people. And that I can understand._

_‘’5:00.’’ I tell him, and I hope he understands._

_For if he doesn’t, and I am wrong, then there is a path of massacre and killing that will follow our footsteps to an end and a time when there will be war; of jus drein jus daun, whether necessary or not; whether if we want it, or not._

_…_

_Clarke doesn’t protest when my soldiers drag Pike in._

_Doesn’t protest when we check him for weapons and strip him of his armour; doesn’t protest when we tell him of the terms of his surrender; doesn’t protest when we tell him of his death; doesn’t protest when I tell him how he will die._

_Death by a thousand cuts. For the injustice he brought to my people; for the 300 dead, razed in a war that should’ve never happened; for my people he didn’t spare in his camp; for being indirectly responsible for **my** own paralysis when he sounded a war horn I could not stop. _

_It’s not personal. He has to be sacrificed to resume my power; the invincible, unquestioned Commander, one impervious to revolution or anarchy or war. And yet it feels so; for he has committed crimes against my people, crimes that stretch far and wide that I myself am affected as well._

_(And although my people don’t accept it; not yet; I am the rightful Commander of the 13 Clans, and Commanders should hold no bias with regards to punishment and death.)_  

_Pike’s eyes plead; for his survival, for his life. When he realises that I won’t spare him mercy, his eyes flitter to Clarke’s; and my heart speeds, for reasons I wish I could forget._

_She is Wanheda. If she decides to spare him mercy, a death by a quick kiss of her blade, my people will feel insulted. Robbed of their chance for justice; and revenge. She has done it once; for Finn, her past lover; and it was only my command,_ **_my rule_ ** _that quelled their desire for their rightful vengeance. But now, I am no longer the Commander my past self was. My kill order for Pike was there to provide closure to my people and those affected; and to show my power. Power which cannot be questioned; and if it were, even_ **_slightly_** _,_ _there will be war._

 _The Clans I fought so hard to join together will fight, for the Commander’s power. There will be no more Natblidas; no more selectively-chosen rulers. They will clash; in a desire for rule. And that war I cannot stop._  

_Jus drain jus dun. Blood must have blood. It may be a way of the past, but an effective one at that; and one I cannot change, not right now, until the war is over and done and my people are proud._

_Once Pike dies, the war will be over. And there will be no more needless slaughter or blood; not if I can help it._

_…_

_He asks for Clarke._

_Pike, the doomed leader of the Skaikru, asks for Clarke._

_I don’t check Clarke for knives when she leaves for Pike’s cell. Nor do I station soldiers to escort her to his cell, or spies to listen into their conversation. It wasn’t necessary._

_She wants to save her people; and that sentiment I understand. But she should know, better than anyone, that some people were not worth saving—and how she could not save everyone, despite how much she may want to._

_And if their deaths prevented the start of a new war, and paved a way for peace, then all the more well; for I cannot see a route which Pike survives and peace is brought abound our world; where Skaikru and our people coexist with no ill-will or intent, where there is no discourse or tension or the looming shadow of war._

_I hope she makes the right decision, for all of us._

_…_

_Pike is dead._

_Officially dead in 2:00 at night, due to blood-loss caused by 2,307 cuts. Unofficially dead in 10:00 in the morning, survived 5,127 cuts and had to be killed by my blade, severing his aorta and cutting off blood flow, resulting in his death._

_I suppose they could call it a mercy. I had witnessed the entire spectacle, from dusk till dawn, his execution positioned at the centre of Polis. My people had started slowly; cutting shallowly and steadily, to ensure his death was not too quickly done, to ensure his survival till the 1,000th cut; and basked in his moans of pain and the defeat in his posture. It is for justice; closure; revenge; but when I glance upon the crowd, each grasping their way towards the blade, hands stretching outwards as if wanting to taste their revenge in form of Pike’s blood, taking turns slicing him and competing to see who could make him groan as if it were some blood sport, all I see is a lynch mob._

_Clarke had made it 50 cuts in before she retired to her chamber. And after her leave, my people became even more so animated—the only thing, the presence of a Skaikru keeping them down now gone, they went even further with no end in sight. They had him stabbed; skinned; gouged and maimed, and took ‘’breaks’’ where the healers would stitch his worst wounds. And once it was done, the fun would start all over again._

_A few even asked me for the honour of stabbing him with not the ceremonial knife but with my own—the Heda’s—blade, and even Indra questioned whether if I was going to leave my viewing balcony at Polis to torture him myself._

_My people kept cutting, and planned for more—until I ended their joy once and for all. We kill for justice; for closure and revenge. And we instructed a death by a thousand cuts; and five times of that he received. We kill for revenge, for vengeance, to avenge the helpless he had felled. Not to fill sadistic impulses, not for death for the sake of it, not for blood, just because blood could be had._

_I killed Pike. I could say it was a merciful death, and perhaps future tales of the unbidden war between the Skaikru and the Clans might; but I had let my people torture him, five times more than what was supposed, before I ended it once and for all._

_His eyes were hollow; vacant once he saw the giddy sea of people part, empty when he saw me wheel through, unseeing when he heard my sword draw, unresponsive when I stabbed my blade into his still-beating heart. He was not afraid; nor was he grateful for my ‘’mercy’’. He wasn’t resigned, nor was he not fighting. He stared at me in the eye; a word from leader to leader, a message only I understood. His last words a croak, blood overrunning his lips; but his true ones I saw, from his eyes._

_He was not sorry for the murder of my people. But he was sorry for the cold war it had caused—and the countless deaths it took, his side and mine alike. Neither of us wanted a war—officially not one but in our hearts it were— he understood that now. But too late he realised; and now, his sacrifice to end it for both sides, once and for all._

_I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel some sort of satisfaction at his death. But was it retribution, or plain and simple hate; revenge?_

_I didn’t know. But he was dead anyway, and my people liberated among it._

_…_

_I am Heda._

_The Commander of the 13 Clans. Creator of the Coalition; beloved to Wanheda, the Commander of Death; my rule upheld by my people and their approval. I am Lexa kom Trikru, the rightful ruler of the 13 Clans._

_They call me Enokomwor now. Ender of wars. I am hesitant to add it into my rooster of titles; for though I did stop an impending war, it was not without cost, nor was it by my own. And the wounds were still fresh, some I dare not think nor open for I had my people to think of, and I forbid myself to engross myself in my own, senseless problems in comparison to those on a grander scale, because I fear a downward spiral from then on out._

_Though I have everything, from inconsequential titles to limitless power, I fear. I am scared for the future that is to come. Roan is right; peace is momentary. And though I pave a road for the betterment of us all, when will war find its way onto my shores? And what of the Commander that could not walk—that did not want to dwell on that fact that she couldn’t, for fear of future hardships both personal and public that was to come?_

_It scares me. The future. But I am here now, so I shall celebrate the end of this one, and worry for the next tomorrow. It was not the end yet. But after the next war, and the one after that one still, it could be._

_I would make it be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about this chapter! I'd also like to hear your guesses on what the final chapter would be about... any thoughts? :D
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Honour

_It’s been two weeks of peace._

_Two long weeks of quiet, since the Skaikru war ended. Two weeks of nothing but time to myself; two weeks to recuperate and think—from battle strategies to my legs. Two weeks with Clarke, time which both of us needed for ourselves; and each other. Two weeks of calm; calm before the storm that I wished wasn’t to follow._

_Two weeks of peace, before chaos picked up again._

_…_

_Skaikru comes into my city._

_They emerge, slowly—come out of hiding, entering from the hidden gates, blending in with my people alike—but I can see the difference between Clarke’s people and mine; the stares of surprise they give (which they quickly try to hide) when I wheel through Polis with my guards for daily inspections and checks, or the fleeting glances coming from them before they slip into the shadows—and of course, the all-too-telling Skaikru accent when they try to speak through my people’s language._

_It should not come unbidden, not at first. I am not surprised, and I should not be. After all, if some of my people stray to Skaikru’s side for a better life, then why shouldn’t theirs come to mine?_

_I do not know if it was a product of Skaikru’s dead leader, or the end of a war or a promise of a better life that led them to my people, but it was only a matter of time before Skaikru’s inner happenings came with them as well._

_It began with a chip._

_…_

_At first, the changes were not evident. My people were quieter than usual; tamer, if you will. The revolts had died down; the streets fairly clean of discontent or discourse; and my people looked happier, if you will._

_But then, I became suspicious. We had just merely finished the Skaikru war, and yet… I see my people, razed and torn and broken from the events of war; of broken families and friends—and yet happiness tears through the few of Polis. It is not hard to pinpoint the smiling, carefree faces amid those whose eyes were haunted, where war had taken enough from them already._

_I see elders falling over, but getting up just as quicker and none the wiser to the pain. I see children of boundless energy; children who had just seen their parents slaughtered or executed, seen their very friends die because of a man wielding a gun— livelier than I had seen them before, happy as if they had no care in the world; as if they were not living in a world where_ **_jus drein jus daun,_ ** _where they were taught from the first day that life was survival; that they were living in a world where blood must have blood._  

_I should not be suspicious; I could’ve blamed it on the ending of a war, called it a rejoice of my people; but yet suspicious I remained—for I know, better than anyone—that pain and loss cannot be ridden so easily._

_When I wheel towards them, they greet me eagerly and tell me, with a broad smile; that it was the miracle of the ‘’chips’’ that offered them freedom and salvation—a reprieve to the pain of our world. A reprieve that a man donned in cloth offered; that saved them from hurt, and the agony, both physical and emotional—a reprieve that I should take as well._

_I left that day, gave my thanks and returned to Polis’ tower—but not without telling one of my guards to send a healer to check up on those affected. Though perhaps I should not worry; for if my people have surmounted their pain and hurt that I inadvertently caused, then all the more better—but a nagging part of me does not fully trust in the Skaikru, and the so-called ‘’miracles’’ they provide. But for now, I will trust in my people, and hope they understand what they were doing; for now, I will send a healer to examine the ‘’chips’’ and their possible side effects, until further developments show._

_…_

_The final straw was when he came up to me one day, during a patrol. I recognised him; Taruk, the Ambassador of the Lake People. Podakru. He is an active voice in the Coalition; highly against my rule, and voted for me to be dethroned when I rose to Commander again. He came up to me in smiles; and I had to order my guards to put down their weapons, as I approach him myself._

_‘’Heda,’’ he greets politely, devoid of menace or passive-aggression in his voice. It would be telling enough in itself; but he then apprised me of the chip the ‘’Miracle Maker’’ gave him. He details his friend’s execution by Pike’s hand, as I sit uncomfortably, waiting for him to get to his point— and then he says that the cuts he inflicted on Pike as revenge did nothing but leave him with hollow anger; and_ **_smiling,_ ** _he tells me it was only the Miracle Maker that saved him from a spiral into desolation._  

_And after his speech, he looks at me, his eyes flittering from me and my wheelchair. I do not need to ask to know what he implies—that for some balking reason he thinks his ‘’Miracle Maker’s’’ chip can fix me. I glare even as he smiles; turns my chair round and leaves for Polis’ tower, for it is no time for me to fixate my delusions on false hope, or to engross myself in my own problems, when I have a city to fix._

_But it is not him. Trikru, Azgeda, Sankru, Delfikru—people from Clans all around. They come up to me, tell me of their miraculous tales, and are all intent on providing me a chip from their ‘’Miracle Maker’’, despite my stream of protests._

_I do not know what to say, or think—at first I feel anger, for they delude themselves in thinking that a magical chip can ‘’fix’’ my paralysis—but then I realise their concern was genuine. My people’s gestures confuse me, disturb my thoughts, and yet it is oddly touching—I suppose I have underestimated the level of which my people care for me, their Heda. It is unusual, and odd, and no doubly confusing, but I accept their gestures of kindness nevertheless the same._

_…_  

_I tell Clarke of the situation in Polis._

_She is surprised; but does not see it as unexpected news. After confirming that it was indeed the work of chips, and that it had nothing to do with the end of a war, her features contort into disturbance, and tells me to reiterate my people’s stories._

_After I finish, I ask whether if she knew about this before; if she had heard any mention of it during the spying on Skaikru, if anything. Clarke shakes her head no—but her eyes tell me she is bothered by the thought—that something went within the gates, without her knowledge._  

_Clarke tells me not to be affected by what my people say; assures me the so-called ‘’chip’’ is nothing but a drug, one that delusions my people’s pain into happiness and it messes with one’s mind, makes them think they were experiencing happiness when they were truly suffering from pain._

_And then, quieter—for she is Clarke and knows my every thought—she says that I am a perfectly capable Commander; of rule and power, tells me tales that I am the best for my people; smother me in words of calm and comfort I do not deserve; assures me that I am no different before and after the bullet, except a wheelchair and a half-paralysed body._  

_I do not say anything; for perhaps everything seemed fine after the bullet; that I had long ‘’gotten over’’ my paralysis, that I was still Heda in name and Pike was dead and all was fine; but I know I cannot say the same for my mind, or my legs._

_And afterwards, even without my response, Clarke continues; encourages me with the time I’ve spent training with Roan, and repeats yet again that I am capable; no different before and after Titus shot me save for my legs; asks—not verbally but in her face, but I read it all the same— if I plan to take to take the chip, to rid myself of my pain. She questions me, but doesn’t voice the thought… and I realise even Clarke, my beloved, the Wanheda and the Mountain-Slayer_ _is affected by my impervious ascension, and though bolder than most she still fears my newly-established command, for I am not Lexa anymore—no longer the girl sobbing about her paralysis— but Heda, the unquestioned Commander, the Commander that let Pike be tortured to win her people over, the Commander that let eighteen of her people die to win a cold war._

 _The thought hurts me. And even as Clarke sees the distress in my features, try to comfort me still, I feel even worse._  

_Perhaps I am a capable Commander, but some days I wish I could throw the burden it contained away. Every title added to my name was yet another weight added to the burden of being a Commander—and though I cannot say I do not enjoy it, sometimes I wish and wonder of a life where I wasn’t a Commander—a life where I had ran away with Costia, back when I was nobody but a Natblida preparing to die in a Conclave. I wonder of a life without seeing my people look up to me as if I were some saint, a life where nobody looks at me like I were Heda, where no one expects me to make the decisions, to uphold my command, to rule my people as one. I wonder of a life without the pain—without a shadow of death looming behind my presence, without the need of being a role-model to my people, without the constant reminder of Costia’s death plaguing my head, without the continuous pain of paralysis. I wonder of a life not as a Natblida and as a red-blood—not expected to rule, not expected to suffer for their people—living a normal life, or as far as normal could be in Polis._

_And that is when I realise, submerged in a cave of my thoughts—I realise that I wish of a way to rid of my pain._

_…_

_Jaha enters the Ambassador’s chamber, just after I and Clarke talk. He is surrounded by the Coalition, the Ambassadors murmuring amongst themselves about the man whom entered without my approval._  

_I am on alert; my hand resides on the hilt of my blade, ready to draw at will—for my people’s descriptions of their Miracle Man match up exactly with this man clad in worn cloth, a greyish metallic backpack slung over his back, as he kneels and I tell him to stand._

_I ask him of his presence here, though I know already—the sinking feeling in my gut telltale enough. ‘’To introduce you to your salvation—and to cure you of your pain,’’ is what he responds, and Clarke’s eyes jolt back to mine—and I feel sick even further._

_He doesn’t know. He couldn’t have known. How did he know? I told nobody but myself._

_And when I tell him to elaborate—ask him what he was talking about, to see if he actually understood what he was spouting— he gives a knowing smile, says there is a way to freedom from my pain, tells me of a way to live a life without being eternally trapped in my wheelchair, and smirks: he can douse the flames that engulfed my legs._

_I yell for my guards; to arrest this man and to throw him into one of Polis’ many cells—and even as he is dragged into his cell, he cocks his head smiles—for he knows he has shaken me, once he spoke of a Commander’s weakness she should not have._

_…_  

_I know this moment—I am familiar with it in nightmares, and I fear it when I wake up. When they realise there is something beyond paralysis that affects me—and that is the pain._

_Clarke rubs her hands across my legs, like she had done to circulate my blood so many times before; a tingling sensation, but there is nothing but that. And pain._

_It is unbearable._

_‘’How long since the pain?’’ Clarke asks, distressed, as she looks up to me from her assessment. And I push down the bile; look at her square in the eye; and tell her since I woke up from the bullet._

_It is sprodatic; and yet it comes. Mildly at first; burning slightly, a price of the aftermath—and then intensifying until I am wracked with pain with no relief in sight._

_They say paralysis is when you feel nothing, when the nerves are damaged beyond repair; and yet I am aflame. I feel the burning, and it does not stop. My back, my legs scream, and I feel everything; as if the pain had somehow magically reconnected my nerves and shoved its dastard black heart into my legs; but when I try to move my legs, try to stop the pain; nothing is there._  

_She doesn’t understand why I kept it to myself, for so long. Truthfully, I would rather not have the people I love worry; and especially with my status as Heda, I cannot give an excuse for the Coalition to force me down; and pain I can deal with. Or at least, I wish I could._

_Clarke calls it neuropathic pain, and tells me she’ll be back with Abby to investigate further, to locate the source. Call me bitter: but was the source not when I aligned Skaikru into the Coalition, when Pike killed 300 of my people; when I refused to exact the rightful punishment to Skaikru; that led me into this condition?_

_Was my pain not because of my people—when Titus shot and paralysed me with a bullet  because he thought he was doing what was best for our people; when I had the lives of few sacrificed to save the lives of many in a damned cold war; was it not when I decided to become Heda once again—did my pain originate because I took ahold the mantle of the Commander—for my people— from the very beginning?_

_..._

_Roan trains with me, as Clarke watches on._  

_I know she does not approve of this, especially learning about my neuropathic pain. But I have to get out my anger, release the steam that had engulfed me tauntingly once Jaha spoke of my pain. I wield a dual of my twin blades, and play on defensive, though all I want to do is to throw my blades in Jaha’s eyes._

_For Jaha had exposed my pain—exposed my_ **_weakness_** _, in my people’s eyes— and if there was any doubt about it, they only had to refer to my reaction in the Ambassador’s chambers to prove that what he said was true. If my Clans do not think me weak before, they would do so now—for what would they do with a Commander who could barely fight, who was in constant pain?_

_I growl as I parry Roan’s blow from his spear with my blade, and with one furious swing I break his weapon in half. He is surprised; but it soon morphs into smile, into kind approval in his eyes. My breathing heavy, my gaze almost feral as I think of Jaha and his knowing smile, I drop my twin blades and leave the training room, without looking back._

_…_

_It is while I patrol Polis when I witness Indra and Octavia fight._

_They fight in Indra’s abode. Though Indra was injured from Pike’s massacre—the sole survivor from Pike’s damned war, could barely stand like I couldn’t the time we retrieved her from the battlefield, had reluctantly stayed with me, for she could do no more, while I recuperated from my wounds from Titus—and yet she is fighting against one of her Seconds, Octavia, and winning in every measure._

_It is only when they notice me staring that they stop; and Indra finds me a plank to wheel up upon, and she invites me into her abode, though Octavia is not so welcoming—for it had only been two weeks since Lincoln died in the execution, and she no doubly blamed his death on me, now that Pike was gone._

_It is how I know she hasn’t taken the chip yet._

_Indra talks of the Skaikru’s chips; tells me words I have heard in a dozen’s mouths before; tells me how not only she could fight; but she understands of peace and the needlessness of pain— and it is how we should live, as a whole. Nothing of the Indra who screamed for jus drein jus daun; who was the Trikru who thirsted for war, who begged me to kill the Skaikru when Clarke appeared in my tent door._

_I stare at her, though I know she will not comprehend what is going through my head—not like how the old Indra could, when she explained to me about pain and suffering, during the weeks when I let nobody in my tent for fear of humiliation and embarassment._

_I tell her my piece, the piece she told me just months ago. Tell her of the wars—the wars which the Clans once indulged in a time when there were no Commanders. Inform her of the fights; the murders; the cullings, tell her how the past Commanders suffered to bring us here now, how Becca Pramheda fought for the civilization of Polis; how ; how they all suffered for a better future; and how, like she told me too many nights before, when I could not accept that my legs were dead—how sometimes suffering was necessary to get us through a new age, whether if we deserved the pain or not. How suffering taught us. How suffering evolved mankind to be better. But Indra stares at me as if I am a fanatic, as if I was reciting some historical war from the distant past._

_I try, desperately, even remind her of jus drein jus daun, and why our people said it necessary, tell her of the wars she’s fought through—and Indra nods along, but her eyes cloud over when I mention the Skaikru’s massacre, or the wars of the past she’d told me before—and that is when I realise._

_She doesn’t remember it at all._  

_…_

_I should not do this._  

_I can’t do this to my people. To myself. I am making a choice that should’ve been theirs to make. I am making a choice on behalf of my people—of the people who elected me Commander. I am ruining their happiness, and giving back their pain. All for the sake of some paranoid fear that my people will forget._

_But it was a justified one, wasn’t it? Indra has forgotten about the Skaikru’s massacre. Anya doesn’t remember the Skaikru, and what they did to her. She doesn’t remember her Second’s name, doesn’t remember_ **_Tris_ ** _or any of her warriors that died, that she swore to remember. The children have forgotten about their mothers and fathers, who had died in a war to protect them. The elders have all but forgotten about our history; cannot remember the names of the past Commanders, all our tales and legends wiped from their minds. My people don’t remember the wars, have forgotten about their loved ones that have died, can barely recognise the names of their dead children in massacres._

_I am choosing to give back them their pain, in replacement for their happiness and optimism that had long been lost since the beginning of our survival._

_But is it the right one?_

_I can’t do this, I think to myself again, and my mind wanders from my people to selfisher reasons—if I do this, I lose my chance to forget. My chance for a blank slate, a chance to wipe away the pain—forever lost. Never again._

_And that is when I realise._

_I want to forget. I want to eliminate the pain. I want to return to a time where there is no hurt—where there was no Skaikru or war or Natblidas and Commanders—return to a time where it is just I and Costia, a time when, like my people, I knew nothing but happiness itself._

_But there will be no Clarke. For Clarke was the embodiment of my suffering—when I chose to take Skaikru into my Coalition, where we loved each other but were torn apart by our duties to our people, when I took a bullet because of a weakness in love, a bullet that was meant for Clarke; when I was paralysed, and the pain a pyre I was confined screaming within, the flames licking the skin I could not feel. There will be nothing that made my life mine, for everything that made it mine was my suffering._

_My suffering, which brings forth a better future. My suffering, which would be inevitable, an eventual a part of everyone’s life… and when that suffering is taken away, what does life become?_

_Nothing but a blank slate on a canvas, coloured with white; shades of red, of fire, of yellow, of our fight, of black, of our loss, of grey, of our morality; all lost, all gone. Nothing but white, without the dark and grey to understand why we must follow the lit path, the **better**_ _path_ **** _. Without the suffering—without the knowledge of having suffered and understanding why we must find a higher road—we would be nothing but an_ **_echo_ ** _of someone we once was._

_Because without suffering, what is there in life?_

_Because what is life without suffering? Nothing— a mindless happiness, an ignorant bliss; our histories forgotten, the lessons we’ve learned through our sufferings forgotten; our pain wiped away as if it were as easy as the waves washing over the sands. Because our pain is ours; our_ **_suffering_ ** _is ours; and that shall not be dictated by a Man in Grey, claiming to be on a mission for his saviour, claiming he understands and knows how to erase our hurt, claiming that pain is pain, though he knows_ **_nothing_ ** _about_ **_our_ ** _pain. For pain varies; and our pain is ours, and he cannot take away our choice—our_ **_free-will_ ** _, our_ **_suffering_ ** _as if it were some holy mission for him to save._

_I am doing the best for my people, I remind myself yet again, and this time, I understand. So with a bracing breath, I enter his cell._

_…_  

_‘’Is this for torture?’’ Jaha asks lazily when I enter, as if he couldn’t be bothered less by my presence—or the warning torture imposed. ‘’Or have you come to free yourself from your physical constraints—for the pain that traps you from inside out?’’_

_I nod, and my hurting legs scream for salvation—for the salvation to douse the flames that had been alive for far too long, for a reprieve—even momentary—from the pain. But I steel my nerves and tell myself that the choice is not mine—that it is our people’s._  

 _It is what my people would want, even if they disagree with it now in their current states, I understand._  

_‘’On a condition,’’ I say, because I fear an involuntary acceptance for his pill as the pain deepened still—for anyone who acts on emotions acts irrationally. ‘’Show me your salvation.’’_

_He stands; looks around, eyes darting as if seeking approval from some nonexistent entity—and he takes his backpack and carefully opens it; coddles the machine like a child—as if it were his saviour. And perhaps it was. For it granted the people an ability to forget their pain and move on—and who wouldn’t choose that option, if they could?_

_Unless they were choosing on the behalf of mankind, and not themselves._

_‘’She recommends I shouldn’t do this,’’ Jaha says, with a smile. ‘’But I am willing to put aside my saviour’s recommendations in good faith, Commander. After all—’’ and with that a flitter of an eye to my wheelchair, ‘’—I understand the pain you are in. No one deserves the burden you shoulder as Heda, and from leader to leader, I truly understand how you feel.’’ Another look. My eyes glance at the small window that leaked sunlight into the cell, not too high or too far from my reach.  ‘’The distances which you would go for your people are… admirable. You lead them all, and thus in return for your pain, they follow you wherever you would go.’’ A smile. My hands near the armrests, reach into the hidden compartment. ‘’No one_ **_appreciates_ ** _the burden you take every day for your people. But I do, and I can relieve it for you.’’_

_His hands reach out. I trace one hand over the machine, feel the smooth shell it was contained in. Feel the chance of freedom from the pain, from my people’s judgement, from the burden of being a Heda, all in my hands._

_It was tempting._

_But he had forgotten what cell he was in. It was where we first met; I as Lexa the ‘’slave’’ and Gustus as the ‘’Commander’’, imprisoning both Jaha and Kane in and telling one to slit the other’s throat. It was where my plays were doled out—where I once observed whether if the detained were worthy of my time, or not._

_He had forgotten I could act._

_Before anyone can stop me, I wrench the backpack from his hands, and with a swift strike from my blade break open the shell, where the machine—his ‘’saviour’’ resided, in all of its glory._  

 _There was no time to waste, and so I threw it down the shining square window in the cell where it would take 30 floors until it meets ground._  

_They stare at me in horror; from Jaha to my guards and Clarke herself; and I wheel out of his cell and tell my guards to shut the doors, till he is deemed sane enough to let out._

_I am taking away my people’s happiness. That I know better than anyone else; by destroying the machine, I am taking away their freedom; what they once proclaimed their salvation; by saving them from mindless happiness, I am throwing their pain back into their hands for them to juggle, and now it will be worse than ever— for they had a taste of heaven, a City of Light and salvation; and they were turning their backs from it into a mortal realm, where pain exists and there was no miracles—something I understand they will hate me for._

_But without pain, without suffering, no one is truly complete. Without the pain’s reminder, what stops them from forgetting about their family—forgetting about their dead friends—caring about nothing but themselves, forgetting the lesson’s they’ve learned during their suffering, forgetting the parts which made up themself, even if it was so painful that anyone wanted to do but forget? Without the pain, how do we move forward? Without the pain—or, rather,_ _the pain of_ _remembering those that had hurt us so much we needed to forget_ _—we are stuck in a perpetual loop of happiness, one that spares no glance at caring for others, and evolving our generation and growth for ourself?_

 _Costia. Gustus. Titus. Clarke. There was a time when I’d rather forget their names—a time when I hurt so much even a reminder of them caused insurmountable pain—but now, I hold onto Costia’s bittersweet memories; revel in the new ones found with Clarke; understand Titus’ mistake (though I am not yet to the stage of acceptance); remember Gustus’ care for me._   _It still hurts; it never stops hurting, and yet, the old memories are with me now._

_Now, I’d rather remember than forget._

_._ _.._

_**??? years later…** _

_They call me strong._

_My people, the ones whom had shunned me for my paralysis, the ones whom once revolted against my rule, the ones who hated me for giving them back their pain, cannot stop showering me in titles. Gyonheda. The Ascended. Enokomwor. Ender of wars. Uf-gifa. Strength-giver._

_Strength-giver. It is not a title I imagined I would take, especially not when they were the ones who once thought I the embodiment of weak. And yet here I am, in a crowning ceremony, my people revelling for I, the Heda that they once thought was lost forever._

_I am strong, because I am unwilling to give into suffering. I am strong, because I was willing to do what I must for my people. Perhaps once a time ago they hated me for it—hated me for thrusting them back into a realm of suffering and reality. But now?_

_They admire my strength. They admire my willingness to suffer, amidst the pain. They admire me even more after my survival of Praimfaya, despite the years that have passed since the opening of the bunker, and without my return I had assumed they’d have pronounced me dead._

_They call me their strength-giver; for if their Heda could survive the pain she had been through, and through that pain overthrow a megalomaniac; end a cold war; save them, then why couldn’t they do so, as well? I am their inspiration, though my worthiness of being so is still up in the air. But Clarke and Madi laugh at my doubts; tell me that I deserve it, from the countless titles to my people’s love for me, more than anyone else. They say that I should be my people’s inspiration, that I deserve to be remembered as what they see me as; a warrior, unwilling to give into anything the world threw at them; and even at times of collapse, even when the fire melts me, breaks me with its pain, I only rise again, the heat which the sword nearly melts at only making it sharper than ever, with the water that douses its fire and reforges it to something harder, something that can withstand even more heat than it could before. Something which was once unshaped, unmoulded, a liquid metal that was privy to change, weathered over time to something else entirely. Something indestructible._

_I suppose, in some way of its own, weakness can turn into strength._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to you all who left comments—please be happy knowing that you're responsible for transforming what was supposed to be a oneshot into a three-parter, full fledged fic. :D 
> 
> I was initally planning on writing a 4th Chapter, Loss (which was about Praimfaya), but then I realised that there was so much I. wanted to fit in there that I couldn't possibly do in a chapter alone. So yes, I think I'm planning a story in this AU, focused on what happened during Praimfaya. Let me know if you'd like to see that happen :D


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